Suddenly Psychic (Glimmer Lake #1)(16)

“How’s she doing?” Brent asked. “I mean, with the accident and all.”

“She’s fine. I think her cast is coming off next week.”

“That’s good.”

“Jake is driving her, but can you hang around to help us move the dresser into her truck? Or are you busy?”

“I’ll be around.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

They finished rearranging the new pieces, moved the old dresser to the loading area in the back, then Robin redecorated the street-facing window with bold fall decorations and waited for Jake and Monica to arrive.

Mark called her halfway through the morning. “You busy?”

“I have a few minutes.”

“How are you feeling?”

Mark had been unusually attentive in the past two weeks. He’d been paying extra attention to her, though he was still leaving the bed before she woke. But he’d call to check in on her and was making dinner more.

“I talked to Austin this morning while you were walking.”

Robin just barely kept from rolling her eyes. “What’s going on?”

She hadn’t been able to walk up and down hills with her newly sore knee, so Mark had pulled his old treadmill out of the garage and cleaned it so she could walk. It was better than nothing, but Robin missed her morning air.

“He’s taking an art class this fall to fulfill his fine arts requirement,” Mark said. “And he’s doing really well.”

“That’s good.” She sketched on the edge of a notebook. “He never took art in high school.”

“Not once. But he’s doing it there, and I guess he’s doing really well.”

“Drawing?”

“Sculpture.”

“Really?” She shrugged. “That’s cool.”

“He was talking this morning about…”

Robin’s stomach dropped. She knew what was coming.

“…changing majors,” Mark finished. “To fine arts.”

Robin took a deep breath. “Are you kidding me, Mark?”

“Okay, I know it’s another change, but this time—”

“This time he’s moving from his third major in two years to another major. Only this one isn’t kinesiology or business, both of which could theoretically result in a job if he actually followed through on them. This time he wants an art degree?”

“Hey, you have an art degree,” Mark said.

“And I’m working in an antique shop!” Robin stood, nearly overcome with anger at her son. “And I took class after class in high school. And before that, I did summer programs. I drew relentlessly. I taught myself how to paint from library books. He takes one art class—”

“You know what?” Mark said. “Don’t yell at me about it. Yell at your kid.” He hung up the phone and Robin was still fuming.

She picked up her phone and nearly dialed Austin’s number; then she thought twice. She needed to calm down. She needed to cool down.

She went back to her desk and flipped a page in her notebook before she closed her eyes and put her head in her hands.

Everything about her life felt like it was dangling on the edge of a cliff. Like her car was balancing precariously over Glimmer Lake, ready to fall in and sink to the bottom if she couldn’t pull it back in time.

That’s where she lived now, balanced on the edge, ready for the last little weight that would make her topple over and into the depths.

Her phone buzzed. It was Mark.

I’m sorry I yelled. I have my doubts too.

Robin didn’t know what to text back, so she didn’t text anything. A few minutes later, another text came through.

The sheriff called and they’re pulling the car up today. They said the crane was free a day early.

She felt her sigh of relief on the inside, as if seeing her car would finally put a ghost to rest. Move her past this hideous chapter of life.

She texted back: I’ll let Monica and Val know.

He gave her a thumbs-up emoji.

She went back to sketching, not even thinking about what she was drawing. She was thinking about Austin as a little boy. He’d loved drawing with her but had quickly become distracted by any shiny new thing. Had she missed natural artistic ability?

Had Austin played with clay? He’d loved his LEGOs, but what did that mean? Every kid loved LEGOs.

She sketched and sketched, not realizing what her hand was doing. By the time she looked up, she realized that once again, she’d sketched a portrait of the man who had rescued them from the lake.

Dark hair. Dark, deep-set eyes. Heavy eyebrows and high cheekbones.

He was handsome, she realized. Rough, but handsome.

Why was he rough? How did she know that?

His hands had looked work worn. He’d had blisters and a cut on his knuckle.

Robin was staring at the sketch on her desk when the bell over the door rang.

Monica walked in with a bright smile. “Hey!”

Robin put down her pencil and walked over, wrapping her arms around her friend. “You’re here.”

Monica hugged her back. “You okay?”

“Just… having a day.” She released her friend. “Austin is changing majors.”